


The Tyger

by theshayshay



Category: Original Work
Genre: Hunters & Hunting, Other, POV First Person, tiger - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshayshay/pseuds/theshayshay
Summary: His face was as black as the night around them, but it was his eyes that captured her, stilling her already slowing heart. Like liquid gold, they burned with passion, with fire, but also with a madness and bloodlust that could never be slaked with just her blood alone. She could see that she would not be enough, no one creature ever would be.





	The Tyger

**Author's Note:**

> **An original piece I made for a creative writing class, and decided to share here. I've entertained the idea of expanding upon this short piece, but I'd have to work a little more on what kind of story I'd like to tell.**

_“Do not blame God for having created the tiger, but thank Him for not having given it wings.”_  
**\- Indian proverb  
**

_“Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,_  
In the forests of the night;  
What immortal hand or eye,  
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”  
**-“ _The Tyger_ ” by William Blake, from “ _Songs of Experience_ ”**

* * *

 

There was an eerie silence that hung over the muggy jungle. The dense, heavy foliage was a predator all on its own, encroaching menacingly upon the nightlife that had stirred once the sun had set. The quiet signs of life that had once been humming, chirring, droning, pulsing—everything had come to an abrupt halt, the hush falling over everything like a smothering thick blanket. Now it was silent out of dread and trepidation, all quivering in anticipation, waiting, waiting. Only the balm of the first light of day could sooth them from their sudden fears, for the night was dark and full of terror. Even the whisper of the wind and the quiver of the earth seemed to be holding their collective breaths as well, waiting for the danger to pass. Only the moon dared to move, and it did so, trekking slowly through the sky. It climbed higher and higher to its zenith, a cold white sliver of coin that was content in its absolute distance from the world it overlooked.

The stillness was disrupted by the appearance of a dainty, long-legged spotted deer. Her tiny frame wobbled on an unsteady, rickety legs as she moved at a pained pace. Her right hind leg shook and trembled, thin rivulets of red staining her otherwise pristine hide. She was alone and tired, distress making her heart pound frantically away in her heaving chest. Like a frightened tiny bird, it fluttered frantically and pounded heavily against her ribs. The strained hush all around betrayed her into a false sense of calm and rest. She heard and saw nothing of her pursuer, and it lulled her to take a moment to slow her pace. Her ears flicked to and fro as she limped on, delicately choosing her steps with care.

Her injured limb pawed gingerly at the ground as she pushed onward, her nostrils flaring and catching scents of reassuring familiarity: fresh water, damp earth, fresh and rotting foliage all intermingling into a strangely alluring perfume. Then came the musk of those she had lost not that long ago. Her herd. They were close. She could reunite with them. There was strength in numbers and she could rest amongst them.

She wouldn’t truly be able to relax until she has returned to them. Fear was toxic and it still held her in its grips. The pain in her leg reminded her of that and she could still feel the agony of ghostly claws raking across her hide. The reminder prompted her to continue moving forward, toward the familiar and welcoming scent of her herd mates.

Exhaustion had already been creeping up on her, but her brief respite allowed it to catch up and settle to make its home in her bones. Every step was heavy and sluggish, and sent pain racing up her injured limb, making her whimper and huff as she continued her arduous trek. Her body trembled from the exertion of remaining tense and ready to bolt, but she was so tired, oh so very tired indeed. She wanted to rest, here and now, sheltered amongst the foliage, but she had come so far, too far to give up in her quest to find her herd. She must make it back, she _had_ to. Even in this nightmare scape of tricks and darkness, she had to press on. Only the bone-white glow of the moon’s light lancing through the undergrowth gave her a vague sense of comfort and hope. It helped her see in the perpetual blackness of the night.

And yet, darkness made her shiver uncontrollably as the shadows continued to play tricks on her eyes, and she found herself jumping at every rustle, quiver, and disturbance around her. The night was dark and full of terrors, but not as black as the fur of her attacker.

He was darkness incarnate, it seemed like, a beastly monster with a mad fire in his eyes...

The doe snapped her fair little head up at a frightful concussive noise intruding the quietness, her heart set to beating at a hundred miles an hour in fright. She was frozen, her body quivering with tension, her legs locked and chest heaving.  Her stillness cost her precious seconds, her focus remaining on the wrong place. She began to move, too little too late, much too late. A mass of shadows descended upon her, a silent phantom of fury, fur and fangs. She screamed and kicked, struggling to fight back, but her strength was waning quickly and she was so much weaker than this monster biting and clawing into her hide. Her pain grew a thousand-fold when it sliced into her neck, crushing her throat and severing her artery. She could feel the warmth of her blood trickling down her slender neck, her struggling began to slow, her frantic heart crawled.

The weight of a mountain crushed her and sent her sprawling underneath, too tired, too weak to resist.  The doe choked on her whimpers, her every breathe a struggle. Her captor, her killer, snorted against her fur, adjusting his hold on her. She could hear and feel the heavy rumble of his voice reverberating back into her. Her eyes rolled in her skull and she briefly caught a glimpse of her tormentor.

His face was as black as the night around them, but it was his eyes that captured her, stilling her already slowing heart. Like liquid gold, they burned with passion, with fire, but also with a madness and bloodlust that could never be slaked with just her blood alone. She could see that she would not be enough, no one creature ever would be. He would always want more. The doe tried to tear away, yet it was already too late. He had his fangs deep in her throat and all she did was tear it apart. With a twist and a crunch, her world went black and she knew no more.

The black beast waited, patient and calm, as the doe’s body stilled and the sound of her heart stopped completely. The regal creature lifted his head at last, gently prying his jaws open and licked his lips as he stared down at his prize. A little torn, a little damaged—but perfectly good meat to be had. His fur was black as the night, and the stripes hidden in his pelt were darker still.  His frame was heavy, muscled, powerful. The tiger flicked his tail, his ears slowly rotating atop his head, the left first and then the other. He inhaled deeply, the scent of his fresh kill intoxicating. The tiger licked his chops in anticipation. The moonlight caught his eyes and they gleamed white in the soft luminescent glow. He purred deeply, pleased at his catch as he turned his head to stare into the deep jungle and he stopped…

And then he looked right at me.

**Author's Note:**

> **Any critique or comments are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!**


End file.
